


Krypto

by mitzvahmelting



Category: Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Crying, Discussions of Animal Death in the abstract (no actual animal death), Discussions of death, Friendship/Love, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Jewish Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-13 21:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11193720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitzvahmelting/pseuds/mitzvahmelting
Summary: Bruce’s thoughts are morbid, yes, but not by choice. He can’t help that it comes into his head, that he can’t look at this animal—this kind, affectionate animal—without worrying for its loss.





	Krypto

**Author's Note:**

> In one week, this story will be a year old. I wrote maybe 300 words of it a year ago, and this is the fifth draft, most of those drafts having been abandoned and reworked and abandoned again. This story was really important to me but I could never figure out how to write it. Somehow last night, my muse struck, and I finished it! Basically don't let your dreams be dreams folks.
> 
> Thanks to [Mellie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/melody1987/pseuds/melody1987) for proofreading~

The Fortress of Solitude is cold the way the cave air feels on naked bare skin when the shower shuts off. It isn’t something Bruce has ever gotten used to, the way the zeta beam can bring him out of temperate climate to arctic without transition period, without preparation, just the shock of wind and ice-spray.

He doesn’t question whether what he’s doing is wrong—it’s a mission, it’s a too-tight clamp on his heart wresting away his apathy, something he can only relieve with action automatic and mandatory. He hefts the portable laboratory onto the ice-cut countertop and pulls the latches with a resignation normally reserved for Arkham.

The dog is a blind-white husky wearing a Superman insignia under its collar. It sniffs around Bruce’s ankles and makes huffing noises.

Step one—DNA sample. Gloved fingers rub the rubber-tipped brush down the solid spine, sweeping loose fur between the bristles.

Step two—apply Lazarus sample.

Watch the physical changes under microscope, then sequence the DNA and compare to the control set. Isolate the change, no, the changes. Every change.

Find a way to adjust the Lazarus process. Keep the dog alive. Perhaps not indefinitely but at least long enough for Batman to come up with a better plan.

Step three—don’t get caught.

 

Failed step three. The dog, who until this point had been lingering on the periphery of Batman’s vision, now lumbers to what must be the front entrance of the Fortress, barking eagerly as its master returns. Bruce grits his teeth. The miniature centrifuge hasn’t finished its cycle and there’s no time to escape.

Superman was supposed to be caught up in Bosnia for at least another two hours. But, then again, the world Bruce lives in never runs according to schedule.

Kal clears his throat from the far side of the kitchen. He’s floating three inches off the ground. By flicking his finger, he can generate upwards of two thousand pounds of force.

He could kill Batman with a look.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

Bruce grunts. Looks away. Tries to position his body to hide the centrifuge from Kal’s sight. He wouldn’t be surprised if Kal tried to destroy it. $10k worth of tech would shatter into pieces on the frigid floor.

“I thought we were done with this, Batman.” Kal sighs his disappointment, gesturing to the laboratory equipment. “At the very least, I thought you’d have the decency to do your alien research behind my back.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” offers Bruce, “I wasn’t testing you. I was testing your dog.”

He can’t help it; he crosses his arms as Superman comes closer, a self-comfort gesture instigated by his subconscious. Kal, whose heat vision could boil a man’s skin off of his bones, perches on a barstool near the centrifuge and scratches behind the dog’s ears. “That doesn’t make me feel better at all,” says Kal. He frowns down at the dog. He surely notices the xenophobic tension in the room, but he doesn’t mention it. “He’s just a normal dog, Bruce. What’s your problem with him?”

“I just… want to ensure it’s healthy.”

“You’re not a veterinarian.”

“I know.”

The dog whines, sensing Kal’s shift in mood, burrowing its head underneath Kal’s elbow to initiate more petting. Kal pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. “Look,” he says, “I know you don’t trust me to do right by humanity, I know you think I’m a… a danger to the world, or something…”

“Kal,” Bruce tries, halfheartedly, to interject.

“But a _dog?_ Really? You think I’m going to endanger my _dog?”_

Kal’s face is turning pink. Bruce holds his breath, anticipating danger. His muscles tense, and his hand shifts towards the pocket of his belt with the kryptonite.

“I feed him twice a day. I always remember his medicine. The vet said he’d be okay in the temperatures here in the Fortress but sometimes I try to warm him up when I think he looks cold, and I know it isn’t fair to keep him so far away from socialization… I mean, I try to come home often so he doesn’t get lonely, but I _know_ it’s not enough…”

And it turns out that the rosy tint to Kal’s face wasn’t an omen of heat vision.

“Why are you crying?” Bruce asks, guardedly.

“I’m not,” the man mumbles, wiping his eyes.

“Kal.”

His jaw tightens, and more tears slip down the sides of his face. The dog’s ears are folded back, and he’s nuzzling against Kal’s knee. “It’s just… now Ma’s gone, and Lois doesn’t want anything to do with me, and… I thought having Krypto would make things better but… this isn’t a place for a dog to live.”

And Bruce can’t handle this anymore, whatever this is, so he shuts his eyes for a moment and grits out, “I’m not taking away your _dog_ , Kal-el,” as if the alien were stupid for even making that assumption.

Kal takes a deep, shuddering breath, and swallows it down. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

Bruce’s fist slams down against the countertop in agitation, jostling the still-whirring centrifuge. “I’m not taking your _dog!_ ” he repeats, the irony of the situation embarrassing him far more than he is willing to show. “I’m… enhancing it.”

Kal’s head tilts, and he looks directly at Bruce. Bruce imagines what it might feel like to be looked through with the Kryptonian’s X-rays. “You’re… making him a super-dog?”

“No!” Bruce’s hands fly to the glass vials and DNA samples just to make it look like he’s being productive, doing serious scientific analysis and not just waiting for the centrifuge to finish. It’s a poor façade. “I’m just trying to lengthen its life.”

Kal frowns, stroking his steel-crushing fingers softly through the dog’s thick white coat. “The vet said he’s only two; he’s really quite healthy. Unless…” Kal’s expression drops moment by moment into a sort of resignation. “Unless you know something I don’t know.”

“Your dog is _fine_ , Kal-el.”

Perhaps the exasperation in Batman’s voice is what causes Kal to set his jaw, and flair his nostrils. “Then why the _hell_ are you in my fortress?!” Kal snaps.

The force of his voice echoes around the uneven, ice-white walls. The dog whines, and its tail sneaks between its legs. Bruce flinches, but he tries to play it down so the superman won’t notice his weakness.

He imagines that same voice directed at the citizens of the world. It’s possible; it’s always been possible.

But Kal sighs and covers his face with his hands, mumbling, “I’m sorry. It’s just… God, Bruce, you’re always an omen of bad news.” He doesn’t sound angry anymore, just defeated.

Bruce watches him, heart still pounding in his ears with fear at the alien’s shout. In a controlled voice, he says to Kal, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s fine,” says Kal, “you didn’t, I’m sorry.” He strokes Krypto’s fur with both hands, for a moment, whispering sweet nothings to the animal, and it seems to calm him further. Finally he says to Bruce, without looking, “Just… please tell me why you’re here.”

Bruce’s fingers curl into fists. “I told you not to keep the dog,” he begins, watching uncomfortably as Krypto nuzzles closer against Kal’s thigh. “But now you’re keeping it, and you’re going to _bond_ with it…”

Kal only has eyes for the dog; adoration, affection…

“…and it’s going to die.”

Kal looks up at Bruce sharply. “You said—”

“At _some_ point, Kal. At some point, in ten, fifteen years, when you’ve put your whole heart into this animal… it is going to die.”

Kal looks miserable, rubbing the dog’s ears and watching Bruce distrustfully. “I know that.”

“No, you _don’t_ know,” Bruce growls, stepping towards him. “In a few years, when this dog is everything that is good in your life, it is going to _die_ , and with it, your sanity.” He jabs a finger against the S-symbol. “The world can’t handle a Superman so jarred by that kind of emotional catastrophe.”

Bruce can see it in his mind’s eye. Scorch marks in pavement in neat, parallel lines. The rubble of free press. The world ruled by the Kryptonian’s fist.

There is a look in Kal’s eyes, a spark of something new that Bruce can’t identify. He is listening intently.

“So if you’re going to _stupidly_ put your heart into such a fragile container—”

“Bruce—” Kal interjects, softly.

“— _I’m_ not going to let it wander around, exposed! Neutralizing the threat of this animal’s death is, because of _your_ reckless emotions, tantamount to neutralizing the threat of a nuclear weapon.”

For a moment, the dog watches Bruce carefully, and Bruce stares back in defiance, resentment. The animal can’t see that through the cowl.

Kal laughs uncomfortably. “Don’t you think you’re exaggerating a bit?”

Bruce levels the full force of a glare against him. “You might not take seriously the sheer magnitude of your unrestrained powers, and the incredible danger you play to the rest of the world… but I _do._ ”

The dog is panting slightly, letting its tongue hang loose as it sniffs at Kal’s hands and tries to earn more petting. Meanwhile, Kal’s face betrays a series of emotions: defensiveness, incredulity, realization, and then… finally, concern.

“You’ve never had a dog, have you?” Kal asks.

Here is the moment, in most of his conversations with Kal-el, that Bruce loses his footing. Kal so often turns the argument around to ask questions about Bruce, probing questions about his life, and Bruce loses his momentum, knocked off-balance. This always happens, and he always thinks, this is the time when I am prepared for it, this is the day that he won’t turn things around on me.

Bruce scoffs. “Of course not,” he says, as if what Kal had asked him were absurd. “Why would I be so careless? You only grow attached to them, and then they die.” He hopes Kal drops the issue, just so that they wouldn’t have to have this argument, and they could move on to productive work, like adding a couple decades to the damned mutt’s life expectancy.

“Bruce…” Kal is shaking his head in disbelief, or pity.

“It’s only a source of _pain_ , Kal-el,” Bruce insists, “how can you not see that?” But then, of course Kal doesn’t plan for anything further than a month in advance. That’s his M.O., and it’s why Bruce can’t stand working with him. He doesn’t have _foresight._

Kal takes a breath, and runs his fingers over the dog’s head. He seems to study the little soft hairs, and the minute reactions of pleasure from the animal. He clears his voice. “After your parents died,” he begins.

Bruce’s words die in his throat. Fight or flight is kicking in; anything to avoid being thrown back there. People always try to throw him back there. He stares openly at Kal, as if Kal betrayed an unspoken agreement.

“After your parents died…” Kal repeats and shakes his head, rubbing his eyes, like he gets it now, like he’s connected the dots. “Your fear of abandonment. You didn’t trust anything because you were afraid of how easily it could be taken away from you.”

How could anyone respond to this? Fear of abandonment… Kal is playing him like an instrument, and Bruce has no recourse for the alien’s hypocritical armchair psychology.

Bruce’s jaw clenches shut. He stands up straighter, his muscles tense. “It’s rational,” he grits out. “It’s self-preservation.”

Kal smiles ruefully. “That’s not normal, Bruce.” He stands up off the kitchen stool and kneels on the floor with the dog. “Here,” he says to Bruce, and reaches out to snatch the Batman’s hand before Bruce can pull away, “let me show you.”

Bruce tries to yank his hand from the Kryptonian’s grasp, but Kal’s grip is unforgiving, only yielding enough to keep Bruce from dislocating his wrist. The fear becomes stronger, as Bruce is pulled down against his will, and Kal peels the gauntlet from Bruce’s fingers. “Stop, Kal,” Bruce almost pleads to him, “stop this.”

But Kal doesn’t stop. He guides Bruce’s bare hand to the dog’s fur.

“No…” Bruce protests, barely above a whisper. “Kal…”

“It’s alright,” says Kal.

The dog sniffs Bruce’s hand, but then allows the petting to continue, leaning into Bruce’s touch. The fur is fluffy and thick, and underneath it Bruce can feel the warmth of a living thing, the body of muscle and blood.

Krypto looks directly at Bruce, with his soulful, dark eyes. There’s a recognition there, an acknowledgement, and Bruce feels like his chest has cracked open.

“I can’t look at him without…” Bruce chokes.

The dog seems concerned, stepping forward to sniff Bruce’s breath. He lifts one of his paws to press it against Bruce’s thigh, and Bruce makes a broken sound, taking the animal’s paw in hand. The pads of its foot are dark and calloused, and its arctic fur spreads soft even between its toes.

“I can’t look at him without thinking of him dead,” Bruce admits hoarsely. It’s merciful that the dog doesn’t understand a word he’s saying. “His entire world is your responsibility. And… when you leave, even just for a few hours… _he_ doesn’t understand, _he_ doesn’t know if it was something he did wrong...” Krypto seems to smile at him, blissfully ignorant of the conversation. His jaw is loose, his pink tongue exposed. Krypto’s teeth are still white, indicating his youth. It makes Bruce wince. “And when he’s old, when he gets sick, when he’s hurting and he’s about to pass away… he won’t understand,” Bruce rambles, “And you’ll hold him and you’ll tell him you love him, but he won’t understand. He’ll be scared, Kal.”

Kal nods, tears shining in his eyes, but he’s smiling a bit, charmed by the positive reaction his animal is having to Batman. “I know that, Bruce.”

Krypto makes a sound of confusion, and pushes closer to Bruce, to lick his chin. The sensation of its warm tongue against his skin makes Bruce’s breath catch, and he is going to push Krypto away, but his hands shake. Bruce continues, softly, “These creatures… they’re just dumb enough to lack capacity for complex thought, and yet just intelligent enough for it to be tragic. How could you…” Krypto kisses Bruce again, and he shuts his eyes, as fingers stroke the dog’s nape blindly, instinctively. “You know all of this.”

Kal smiles, and cards through the fur of the dog’s tail. “He likes you,” he says.

Bruce says nothing. He won’t look at Kal. He won’t look at anything, except this strange face peering up at him. The animal exposes itself to him, to his touch, with complete trust, affection shared generously.

“I know it’s sad,” says Kal, soberly. His voice sounds more worldly than earlier. “And when he does pass away, I will mourn him. But part of owning a pet… part of opening yourself up to love at all…” Kal cracks a smile at the insight, “is accepting that death is a part of life, and it doesn’t diminish it, or make life any less worth living.”

With shaking fingers, Bruce unlocks and removes the cowl, so that he can rub the tears from his eyes. It would otherwise be mortifying to cry in front of Superman (not least because Batman is supposed to be a check on Superman’s power, and demonstrating vulnerability endangers the world), but in this circumstance, the endlessly adoring gaze of Krypto softens the blow. Bruce could never demean himself in the dog’s eyes.

Kal’s lower lip trembles, but he holds it together. “Krypto is going to die, someday. But he and I have years of friendship ahead of us, and I would never give that up out of fear of the grief it might cause down the road. Grieving hurts, yes, but only because you miss them. Only because you had something worth missing at all.”

And then Kal grimaces and covers his face, takes a deep breath, because the tears are coming. He exhales slowly. “At some point you just accept it, and you cherish all the time you had with them. The thought of them should make you _smile,_ you know? _Zichronám liv'rachá_ , may their memory be a blessing.”

At the Hebrew words, something changes within Bruce. Between them, Krypto lies down, and rolls over onto his back, and Bruce watches Kal chuckle and pet Krypto’s belly. The smile on the alien’s face is… honest, and fragile. “Even after your mother’s passing…” Bruce remarks softly, “you still practice your family’s faith?”

“What, you didn’t notice the mezuzah by the zeta platform?” Kal jokes. “Yes, I still practice. Maybe moreso than before. It makes me feel close to them.”

Bruce nods. “I understand.”

“I know you do,” responds Kal.

For some reason, the reminder of Kal’s Judaism calms a lot of Bruce’s intrusive, paranoid thoughts. Perhaps because having faith, barring dogmatism or fundamentalism, is in and of itself a testimony to a person’s moral values. Perhaps because the Jewish people’s long history of anti-authoritarianism makes the idea of a Kryptonian regime feel less imminent, less inevitable.

Or perhaps it’s because of Bruce’s personal connection, though the Shabbos candles in the manor have been dark for the last thirty years.

“You should get a dog,” Kal remarks, shaking Bruce from his thoughts. Still on his back, Krypto is wagging his tail, likely sweeping dust up from the cold fortress floor.

He is lively, and happy. He is easy to anthropomorphize, with a smile like that. And when Bruce shifts his weight just slightly, the dog immediately perks up, rolls back over onto its stomach and shuffles forward to seek more affection from Bruce.

“I couldn’t handle that. I’d…” Bruce laughs half-heartedly, “I’d break down just looking at him.” He still feels fragile right now, his thoughts turning over the question of funeral arrangements, and whether Clark would want to keep the dog in Kansas. Bruce’s thoughts are morbid, yes, but not by choice. He can’t help that it comes into his head, that he can’t look at this animal—this kind, affectionate animal—without worrying for its loss. “I’d never get anything done – too emotional.”

Kal shrugs, and says “You should visit us, then. More often. It’d be good for you.” He scratches the base of the dog’s tail. “Krypto would love the company. And… it does me well, to see you smile like this.”

Bruce lets out a short laugh, more out of surprise than anything else. “Don’t get used to it,” he advises.

“I wish I could, though,” Kal says, earnestly. “I wish I _could_ get used to it.”

Bruce’s heart drops. The fear of abandonment. Like the fear of Krypto’s loss, Bruce knows that the closer he and Kal become, the more it will hurt when it’s over. He doesn’t want to risk himself like this, he doesn’t want to experience that kind of pain ever again. But it feels like he’s standing at the top of a steep slope, and with just a look at Kal’s kind eyes, he’s losing his footing.

With a panicked inclination towards self-preservation, Bruce stands. The dog flinches at the sudden movement, and Kal’s face falls to disappointment as he watches Bruce. “I have to go,” Bruce tells him, and turns back to the countertop. He cuts power to the centrifuge, and removes the samples, leaving them on the table for Kal to dispose of as he chooses. The dog tries to follow Bruce and sniff at his ankles, but Kal takes a hold of his collar and keeps him at a respectful distance.

Bruce packs away the centrifuge in its case. “I’ll leave you and the dog alone. I’m sorry for the intrusion.”

Krypto barks from where Kal is holding him. Bruce stiffens at the sound, but then continues his departure, facing away from them both. He heads towards the zeta platform, and begins punching in coordinates for the cave. The dog’s nails make clicking sounds against the floor, apparently released by Kal.

And before the zeta beam can initialize, Kal says “Bruce,” directly behind him. Bruce reluctantly turns to face him.

Kal hugs him, and Bruce drops the centrifuge case.

Bruce hadn’t yet put the cowl back on, because his face was still sticky from tears. With the dam already broken, it is that much easier for Kal’s sudden, warm embrace to wring a choking sound from Bruce. Without thinking, he returns the embrace, and when his emotions spill over again, he tucks his face against Kal’s shoulder, against the Kryptonian fabric and the scent of Kal’s soap.

“Thank you for trying to protect me,” Kal says, softly against his ear. He rocks them gently. “It means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome,” Bruce whispers back, like a gasp. Being held like this is grounding, and euphoric. Like just touching Kal has shot ten tons of oxytocin through his bloodstream. He can’t manage it. He can only press closer and try to control the weight he feels in his chest, the tightness in his throat. Kal strokes his hair. The dog is somewhere around them, watching curiously as the men touch.

Kal pulls away first, slowly. “I hope you feel better, Bruce.”

Bruce rubs his eyes, and tries to clear his vision. “Thank you,” he says, feeling unguarded and quiet. Then, he adds without thinking, “Come to dinner on Friday?”

Kal’s face turns hopeful. “You mean it?”

Bruce blinks, “Yes, I—yes. If you’d like to.”

Kal beams at him. “I’d like that a lot.” Then he kneels to pet Krypto at the dog’s insistence, smiling up at Bruce like everything is sunrise.

The zeta platform hums. Bruce collects the centrifuge case and takes a deep breath, stepping onto the platform and turning back to face Kal and the dog. “Kal,” he says, nodding his goodbye. He then hesitates, and glances down at the dog. He grants the animal a half-smile and a nod of acknowledgement. “Krypto.”

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah, this is part 2 of ["bruce is scared of death"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7678366) and a prequel to ["bruce and clark hang out, hug a lot, and talk about judaism"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8844016), i hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> talk to me on [my tumblr](mitzvahmelting.tumblr.com)


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